Some Princes Don't Become Kings

Oh, my tongue's the only muscle in my body that works harder than my heart A smear of black: wings, hooves, horns. Korri recognized the stranger from the herd meeting. Waker? Had Rixen called him? Another pegasus, though this one crowned himself in a row of spines. Another pegasus, but still a little larger than Korri, who had himself been tall in the kingdom of Osslen. How strange to be now the small, fuzzy thing in a kingdom of giants when he had once been lanky and sleek. Handsome, he liked to think. He watched morosely for a time. Waker never looked up, but carried on braced against wind and snow. Lost inside his own mind. What was he thinking? Where was he going? I am a healer, Korri thought, remembering the quiet solemnity of his voice. He had seemed… an outsider, almost. Something quiet and dark on the fringes of the meeting. Unintrusive. Korri followed his progress in silence, eyes pensive behind long, thick lashes. Then before Waker could pass him by completely, he called out: "Hello, Waker!" His voice rose bright as a peal of laughter, unaffected by his mood. A false cheer settling easily over his features — less a mood than a mask. The person he was with other people. He flared his wings, preparing to jump down but unwilling to startle the other man. "It is Waker, right?" Korri called, leaning his head down over the edge of the building. "My name is Korri. I saw you at the herd meeting." His ears pricked forward, eyes keen, waiting to gauge a reaction. He wanted to say more, but he didn't.

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